


unknown title with the lilac and the ale

by hopenoir



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Mentioned Jon Snow/Val, Ygritte is Adopted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 17:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18578950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopenoir/pseuds/hopenoir
Summary: amidst fire and smoke, ygritte rayder finds herself in the comfortable embrace of a pint of beer at the broken anvil.





	unknown title with the lilac and the ale

**Author's Note:**

> i planned this to be a one-shot, but i figured it'd be best if i draw this out for a little longer. i hope yall enjoy.

Twenty-one years ago, from this day, my parents left me to rot in front of the drunken cave of a pub famously known as “The Broken Anvil.” I wouldn’t say that my weird origins is an omen for things to come, but I can safely say that I have had more liver transplants than any one man should have in a lifetime. My surrogate father, Mance Rayder, found me crying for my mother—he used to tell me how often I’d cry in the first few nights, raising my stubby little arms into the air, calling for shadows underneath a ravine of stars.

He was homeless, you see.

Mance, with all the willpower he had in his youth, brought me beyond the wall, where I was raised as a proper woman—reborn in the wilderness, free to do anything, free to be whoever I want to be.

We might not be related, but Mance was the closest thing I have to a family. I loved him, and though he was as dull as a slab of direwolf meat, I’m sure he loved me too. After Mance left… I have been staying over at Tormund’s place instead. Well, “place” might be stretching it. Tormund lives in a van—bought it from some guy named Steven. He is a giant of a man; he claims that he drank giant’s milk for three months straight, but I’m pretty sure he just stole a bag of steroids and downed all of the pills.

The night was cold and certainly not full of terrors. Tormund yawned loudly as he drove the van underneath the glimmering sky. I sat beside him, strumming a guitar I had made when we stopped over at Winterfell, two moons ago.

“Change the lowest string to standard. I was playing with it last night,” he said.

I smirked in disbelief. “Tormund the Giantsbane playing the kneelers’ favourite instrument,”

“A free man has to do something in his spare time, especially in a land as ruly and tight as the south,” he remarked.

“I don’t blame you; it must have been heartbreak for you after that lass ran off with ‘Ser’ Jaime Lannister,” I sneered when I said one of the kneelers’ titles. Jaime was a good man, aye, but titles are still an alien concept to me. Relying on one’s many names to make an opinion of them rather than approaching the person themselves is weird.

The south, in general, is weird. Not that I hate it anyway; it just takes time to get used to all of the laws and expectations the Southrons had.

“What happens, happens, Ygritte. You’d certainly know,”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” he said shortly.

“Don’t worry, Tor. Maybe one day, you’ll find another Brienne of Tarth,” I gave him a reassuring pat on the back, and he smiled.

“That is the least the Old Gods can do after all the shit we’ve been through,” he turned on the radio and played with the buttons for a moment.

_“It has been five years since the Others have been defeated by our glorious and wise leader, Empress Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name—”_

“Bloody kneelers, I’m tellin’ ya,” Tormund muttered.

“At least we’re breathing,” I replied bluntly.

He turned steering wheel clockwise and sighed. “But at what cost?”

The Others… that is a time I’d rather not talk about. Too many lives were ended shortly, too much innocence was lost to the cold and sterile claws of the Night King. Tormund had fought them once, so did I, but that was in the past. In the end, at the final battle of the Great War, on the frozen fields of the Isles of Faces, amidst fire and smoke, between the sound of steel clashing and bullets piercing through the undead horde, the bastard of Winterfell, Jon Snow, slew the Night King with a sword forged by the maesters of Old Valyria, its steel quenched in flames. Underneath the twilight sky, ere the sun rises, the Night King grabbed Jon’s leg with the force of a hundred men, and as his remains withered, a gush of smoke whisked the two souls from the ashened field, never to be seen again. Daenerys held a ceremony for his name; the Free Folk, and everyone else south from the wall, mourned his death. Tormund would have drank himself to death if I hadn’t intervened at the Rekindled, where we all burnt our dead as we shared a moment of silence for the many men, women, and children who sacrificed themselves in the Great War.

A pick from the high E string, my pinky on the fifth fret.

“I just got a call from Last Hearth,” he said.

I perked. “That place with that kid Ned Umber?”

“Ned’s been dead for six years, son,” he grimaced. He glanced at the rolling hills outside of their van and sighed. Tormund, Beric, and Edd had been the one to find Umber’s corpse, his mutilated body hung eerily in the air by a spear of ice that impaled him through his heart. “It’s from the Watch. What’s left of it, anyway. Edd asked me if we wanted to come over and grab a pint at the nearby pub they just made,”

“After all that happened there? Not a chance—that place must be cursed with spirits at this point,”

“Since when were you scared of a little ghost?”

“I… Since I saw them.”

“That…” he trailed off. “The Night King’s gone now, the bodies burnt. All we can do is pray for a better life for them in the afterlife.”

“Would the Old Gods accept the soul of a man who was raised from the dead?” I retorted.

“I don’t know, do I look like someone who knows things? Wherever they may be, I am sure the Old Gods would accept them; they were damned in life, the least they can do is accept them in the Great Weirwood forest,” he finished.

“Fuck… “ I grunted softly. “Didn’t we agree to not talk about this?”

“Aye,” Tormund replied. “We’re going to stop by at King’s Landing—that fine with you?”

“Why there?” I asked. It seemed weird for Tormund to stop by at a place known for tending to high-ranking kneelers.

“I have a friend there that I want to meet—it’s been too long since I last saw him,” he chuckled. “I wonder what the fuck he is up to, nowadays,” he muttered under his breath.

“You? Having friends? I find that hard to believe.”

“I don’t see you talking with anyone, Ygritte. Remind me again how many times you’ve gone out with someone other than me and the lads from the Night’s Watch?”

“More than enough,”

“You’re terrible at lying,” he grinned snarkily.

“ _‘Giantsbane’_ , drinking giant’s milk—I bet you took steroids instead,” I quipped.

He gasped loudly, his face flushed with a hundred emotions. “I’m telling you: I really did kill a giant when I was ten,” he paused. “Do you want me to tell you that story again,”

“I’d rather cut my own ears off than hear that story for the millionth time,”

“I know you love it—you basically laugh all the time whenever I tell that story,” he remarked. “Plus, while we’re at King’s Landing, it’d probably be a good time to meet an old friend of yours too. Remember the dwarf?”

“Tyrion?”

“He runs the pub now,” he stated.

“You’re shitting me,”

He laughed. “I find it hard to not believe that our dwarf-friend got his dream of running his own pub and vineyard… Gods, that used to be the only thing he talked about whenever he was drunk. ” Tormund patted his steering wheel. “Ygritte, can you get that radio to shut up. I can’t stand that squeaky voice.”

I chuckled. “With pleasure.”

 

***

 

Beyond the wall, there were no such thing as roads—not like the ones down south. Wild horses roamed the harsh frozen landscapes, just like the way the Gods intended when they first made them with their magic. Mance taught me how to ride horseback, back when life was simpler, before the Others poured down from the Lands of Always Winter on their giant ice spiders and zombie mammoths.

_Mance and Ygritte watched the drowning sun shimmering in the twilight sky. The heavens were lit with the children of the Gods, stars twinkling amidst the void._

_‘One day,” he reached for Ygritte and held her on his shoulders. “We’ll see the Gift together. I know a fishing spot not too far from Castle Black—the perfect place for you to practice your arrows.” Mance tapped her nose lightly._

_“And then we’ll raid the Southron villages, right?” she perked._

_“We are free folk, Ygritte,” he began his descent from the peak of one of the many Frostfang mountains. “Looting and living the free life may be in our blood, but it is no excuse to harm the innocent,”_

_“Even after everything they had done to us?”_

_“Hate the sin, not the sinner. We will make it past through that wall, and I will show you what it is like on top of the wall—mark my words.”_

“I promise…” I whispered.

“... To fill my drinking horn with ale. Gods, I’ve been driving for ten hours straight,” he sighed tiredly.

“Wanna switch seats?” I asked.

“Spirits save us if I let you drive,” he laughed heartily. “We should be at King’s Landing any minute now,”

“Fantastic,”

“You sound excited,” he noted.

“Aye. Last time I went here, I got almost got my eye cut off,” I said bluntly.

“A day in the life of Ygritte Rayder,” Tormund chuckled as he patted Ygritte’s shoulder. “I’m sure the Unsullied won’t give ya’ any trouble,”

“It’s the damn fanatics that I’m worried about, Tormund. They call us savages, while they hunt down anyone who has a different opinion from them,”

“They’re not cannibals, aren’t they?”

I snickered. “They might as well be—I don’t see too much of a difference between them and the Thenns,”

“Harsh words, Ygritte. Harsh words,” Tormund shook his head.

Our van was inching closer to the golden city. King’s Landing is the home of the kneelers; you can’t find any other city on the continent that matches the arrogance of the city. Towers as tall as the Frostfang mountains touched the heavens and the city always shimmers brightly against the darkness of the night. ‘The city that never sleeps,’ they say; but when a city never sleeps, it becomes tired, and dark forces brew beneath the weary gaze of the Unsullied. Despite the look of the city, many lie in the streets, cold and weary of outsiders. Enough pain had been brought to the King’s Landing; half of the city was covered in frost when the Night King flew south and froze the Red Keep underneath a blanket of ice and snow. The highway from the North had just been completed a year ago, and still, merchants from all over the Seven Kingdoms drive to the capital city in hopes of making a name themselves in a new game of thrones—not for the iron throne, but over the blood diamond the city produces.

 An Unsullied guard, donned in golden armour, a white cloak draped over his shoulders, approached the pair’s van. Whatever emotion he had was hidden underneath the visor of his helmet. “Purpose?” He demanded bluntly.

“Meeting an old friend,” I handed him a card Tyrion had gave me when we parted ways after the battle of the Isles of Faces.

He gazed at the card longingly and nodded. “You are free to pass,”

“Thank you,” I gave him a smile; the guard glanced away from me. I closed the windows and grinned. “For an Unsullied, he did look stiff,”

“Not all Unsullied had their peck cut off, son,” Tormund remarked.

“You’re playing with yourselves again.”

“Like you’ve ever been in a bathroom full of them,” he muttered.

“Don’t need to—I can just imagine the tension,”

“It’s things like these that have made you single for the past twenty-one years,”

“I’ve been with some guys,” I defended, raising my finger. “There was that lass, Jil; and the lad with the red hair from the Milklands—I think his name was Ron?” I paused. “The point is, I’ve had my fair share of tension,”

“A man who has to defend his lack of virginity is not a man,” he said.

“Good thing I’m not a guy then,” I laughed.

“Guy, girl; lass, lad—what’s the difference. We’re both free folk, aren’t we?” he refuted.

“Fair point,”

Our car soon found itself in a peculiar alley, situated comfortably between an old abandoned building and the Broken Anvil. It was a quiet street, one filled with hush words rather than boisterous laughter. I opened the door and sighed a breath of relief. “I was beginning to think that we would be there until our bones rot,” I mused.  
Tormund turned his back, and a waterfall of relief flushed his face as he stretched. “Finally,” he said. “I can drink again,” he concluded.  
I grabbed Tormund by the arm and smiled. “Let’s not keep our little friend waiting for long,” I cheered. He shook my arm from his.

“‘Little’ is one way to describe him,” he spouted as he walked slowly towards the entrance. A banner flew peacefully in the night sky—a golden lion hammering an equally golden sword on its golden anvil amidst a red background. “Sure loves his gold, though,” he added.

I opened the door. A torrent of music flew past me and into the street, where a dog had began to howl after hearing the loud banging of drums and the smooth crescendo from the saxophone. We entered the pub, and a woman dressed in a red turtleneck sweater approached us, holding five pints of beer on each hand. “Welcome to the Broken Anvil! Just take a seat and I’ll be there,” she greeted.

“Actually, we’re here to meet Tyrion?” Tormund asked the lady.

“He’s upstairs right now—” she looked over at me, her eyes piercing through my very soul. “You’re from the North, aye?” she asked.

“Farther North,” I added. She looked at us wearily.

“Oi, where’s our beer!” shouted a man in the back.

“Coming!” the lady shouted back. “I’ll see with him shortly. Just sit down anywhere,” she said.

“Thank you,” Tormund bowed slightly, and the woman disappeared into a crowd of mercenaries raising their drinks into the air in delight. “I’ll go find us a seat—you just get us a drink,” he said.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Ygritte smirked.

“Neither do I, but I’m ordering you anyway. Get me a bucket of ale; I’ll pay you later,” he requested. I crossed my arms and lowered my head in defeat. I walked over to the bar.

‘High in the halls for the kings who have gone,  
Jenny would dance with her ghosts’

I sat on one of the chairs and hid my head in my arms. ‘So fucking tired,” I thought. The sound of jazz, the distant cheering… I could just fall asleep when I hear those words as smooth as silk—

“Ma’am, are you going to order?” the bartender asked. I raised my head and stared at him. He had long, curly black hair that touched the collar of his neck; grey eyes; and a shaved beard.

“You look nice,” I commented, catching a glance at his arms.

He shrugged. “Thank you, ma’am. Are you going to order anything?” He smiled.

I stared at him again: his eyes were timid, barely meeting at my own eyes. Was there something wrong with my eyes?

“Oh, yeah, um…” I stammered and read through the menu quickly. “One bucket of ale and a pint of your best beer,” she said. The bartender raised an eyebrow.

“A bucket?”

“You’ve never seen a free folk drink before, boy?” I joked.

He smiled briefly and nodded. “Many times,” he reached for a bucket underneath the counter. The bartender walked over to the other counter, pull the hose, and let it loose for the next minute. He procured a glass shaped like an hourglass and filled it with beer.

“That’ll be twenty gold,” he said.

“Really?” I squawked.

“Really. I knew someone from the free folk, but she’s been gone for a long time now,” he reminisced.

“I’m sorry,”

He smiled. “Don’t be. The past is in the past, and I’d rather think of her with fondness rather than sadness,”

“You fought in the Great War?”

 

I passed him a bag of coins at his place. He passed the pint to me. Vice versa. “Who didn’t? Gods…”

“It’s a long way from the Gift, ma’am. Why’re you here, anyway?” he asked. “Just out of pure curiosity—we don’t get Free Folk often,”

“I came here to talk with an old friend of mine,” my eyes trailed at the flight of stairs that led to the floor above me. ‘Must be where Tyrion is,’ I noted.

“I am assuming you are here to meet my boss, correct?” He smirked, his right eyebrow raised slightly.

“How’d you know?”

“I don’t have to be the three-eyed raven to know what you want,” he concluded.

She laughed. “You’re a weird one,”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he smiled, his eyes barely meeting mine.

“Though, I don’t remember anything about knowing who the Three-eyed Raven is or what he’s capable of,” I leaned in closer.

“Rumours, ma’am. Whispers in the air, that’s it,” he reassured me.

“For a bartender, you don’t seem to be very good at lying. Who are you, really?” I wondered, leaning closer to the point where my nose was almost touching his.

“... Arryn,” he stuttered. “My mum named me after Lord Arryn back when he ruled the Vale,” he added.

“I’ll play with your games for now, Arryn,” I twittered. “My name is Ygritte. Ygritte Rayder,”

Arryn’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re Mance’s daughter?”

“Surrogate daughter,” I corrected. “But he’s basically my dad. Tormund’s the second closest thing I have to a brother,” she added.

“Giantsbane? He’s here with you as well?”

“Do you want to suck his giant’s teets as well? It’ll help you grow strong and tall,” I snorted.

He laughed softly. “A bottle of wine is fine by me,”

“Wine is a lady’s drink,” I sang with very little eloquence, even Arryn seem to shudder.

“You’re a lady,” he refuted.

“You know nothing, Arryn,” I grinned.

We both shared our laughs. He glanced over at his left, where a group of ladies had called him to them. “I’ll be back. Hold on,” Arryn walked over to the group of women, and I was left alone with a bucket of ale and a half-full glass of beer.

It was weird for me to say, but he smelt familiar—like lilacs and gooseberries.


End file.
